Marionette
by Miss Ayanami
Summary: A short little ficcie, about the duel between Sephiroth and Cloud at the very end of the game. And a little musing on the cause of it all. Shonen- Ai.


A short little ficcie, about the duel between Sephiroth and Cloud at the very end of the game. And a little musing on the cause of it all. Shonen- Ai. And I've been reading too much Seishirou x Subaru and Fuuma x Kamui lately, as you can probably guess. ^^;;  
  
No, I don't own them, I just wish I did. Overabundant angst, melodrama, similes, metaphors, and introspection. Be warned.  
  
[Marionette]  
  
So, it had finally come down to this. The two of us, in this predestined confrontation that was never called into being by fate. Strange, really, that it would come down to this. And yet, I'm not in the least surprised. Two broken puppets with cut strings. Ah, the irony.  
  
He's good. Better than I've ever seen him, and considering how often I've watched him, this comes to me as no surprise. He keeps improving no matter what. Hojo's "gift" to him, I surmise. But that's not what shocks me. It's that he . . . He's . . .  
  
He's my ~equal~! That was ~never~ supposed to happen! The inferior was to die, the superior to kill. But how can that be decided between two who's skills match the others. Why, he even ~moves~ like I do! It's like looking in a mirror, to see my strikes mimicked in exact timing and motion by someone who looks so different from myself.  
  
It's as if we have the same puppeteer, and maybe we do. Maybe the Ancients, the Cetra, have been pulling those gossamer restraints all along. Who truly knows, maybe 'Jenova' simply wasn't? A dead body, an empty puppet in and of herself.  
  
If so, what has all this been for?  
  
I see him, my reflection mirrored inside of his twin irises. I can see his realizations inside their lush depths as he can see into mine.  
  
We both even think the same thoughts now. I can feel it.  
  
~How~ did this happen!? Two who, at the start of this twisted road could be no more different, become twins in all but appearance.  
  
Twins . . . Odd, really, to choose that particular word. I can see that as I have come to this particular insight, so has he. Our blades meet and meet, and never do we truly injure each other.  
  
I don't really think we want to.  
  
But odd to think of we two as twins, when once we were . . . But it is not the time to think of that, he knows this as well. Just as he himself thinks, like me.  
  
No, it is the time to end this macabre dance, this marionette for the Cetra. Time to bring their era's entertainment to it's fitting end. As fate decided, and has never meant.  
  
And I know how to end it. It is a simple matter of move for move. He knows, and he knows what I'm going to do. He also knows he is powerless to stop it, for even as we think as one, we move as one.  
  
And so, I lunge for him, my sword pointed directly towards his heart.  
  
It all seems to slow down, I can see every minute swirl of the Lifestream as I plunge forwards, the shimmer of the Planet's lifeforce across our blades, through our hair. I can see it moving around us, pulling me, pulling us, away from him, each other. Or trying to.  
  
The Cetra don't want it to end just yet. They want a dramatic and drawn out ending for their enjoyment.  
  
Oh, dramatic will be the conclusion I shall give them, indeed, and who knows, mayhap it will be somewhat drawn out.  
  
But it's not the ending they want. They know this, I know this, he knows this.  
  
Just as he knows how it will be decided who lives and dies in a duel between twin stars. I suppose all lover's duels end like this. It is impossible for neither to die, for that simply constitutes an intermission in the grand drama, that macabre play. And for both to die, is simply unthinkable. One must go on, emerge victorious, and live with the knowledge of what he's done. That he's killed his love. And suicide afterwards is never an option. Emotional or spiritual death, yes, but never physical. For what is the tragedy of death compared to that of life?  
  
All this in a moment, the moment before it happens.  
  
And the final act has begun, we are both tragediennes.  
  
Because when pairing twin thrusts, it's simply a matter of reach.  
  
I wonder if in our reflected state, if he can feel this. This pain, the burning ice in my chest right now. He does, I can see it in his eyes. But of course, for a different reason.  
  
I look down. As I expected, there it is, the Masamune buried inside me. The ending I chose. I can feel the wet warmth of tears on my face, and do not need to look to know those crystalline droplets are upon his as well. He starts to pull the massive blade out, but stops. He has come to the realization, as have I, that this would simply hasten the ending.  
  
Strange, that I myself chose to end things prematurely, and yet now I want to slow down the very last scene. He gathers me into his arms, careful not to brush against his sword so that he causes no more damage than already done.  
  
Not that it really matters, the only thing even keeping me alive right now is the Lifestream, the Cetra's desire to see one final goodbye. And our own. Through the haze that has become my vision, I see his eyes close. And because it is an effort to hold mine open, I do as well. I have this odd feeling, like I'm slowly dissolving. And I know I am, that I am becoming more insubstantial, because he knows it.  
  
But I can still feel physical sensations, and I feel that of his lips upon mine. One last kiss, fitting I suppose. Though he doesn't want to think of it as 'last'.  
  
"Goodbye . . . Seph . . ." I whisper.  
  
"No," he murmurs, shaking his head, those silver lengths swirling about us in the Lifestream. "Never goodbye. Simply . . . See you later."  
  
I smile slightly, about all I can do at this point. He's never said something so mundane as 'see you later.' But I suppose that if he ever did, now would be the perfect time.  
  
"All . . . right . . ." I once again whisper. I am unable to talk any other way anymore, it takes too much effort. Apparently the Cetra love these last breathy confessions. I might as well indulge them. "Love . . . you . . ."  
  
"And I you, Cloud."  
  
"See . . . ya . . ."  
  
And that's all I can manage, as I finally slip away into the Lifestream. I wonder what all the others will think, when it is him who rises from the green instead of me. But I spare them no more time. I want my last thoughts to be of him, not them. And so they are.  
  
I love you. See you soon.  
  
[owari]  
  
Yes, ~far~ too much SxS and FxK. ^^;;; But demmit, I wanted something nice and angsty, and also romantic, and where Sephy wins. ^^;;  
  
And the whole Cetra as the puppeteers thing, you're wondering where I got that? Surprisingly, I didn't totally pull it out of my butt, I actually got the idea while thinking about Twig's "A Long Hard Road". Why, you ask? Well, the Cetra were extremely jealous and to be honest, not the least bit nice or how they were supposed to be if one bases the entire race upon Aeris and Ilfana. And I liked that. And somehow, I came up with the idea, that maybe it wasn't even Jenova at all. Maybe Jenova was dead, or incapacitated, or something. Maybe all along it was simply the Ancients who wanted a little angst filled entertainment.  
  
Maybe I ~did~ just pull it out of my ass. But it gives me an idea for another fic. Demmit, what am I doing to myself!? ;_; Here I am, writing 'The Turks Who Don't Do Anything,' trying to work on my other two fics, planning a Valkyrie Profile fic, writing an original piece, and doing background and character sketches/concepts for an upcoming web comic! And I've got Graduation coming up! Gah! _;;; 


End file.
